The Face of Adversity
by WandererInTime
Summary: The Doctor and Charlie get into trouble on an alien world. How will they fare in the face of adversity? (Twelfth Doctor Adventures 6)
1. In the Thick of It

**Author's Notes  
**

 **The sixth part in the _Twelfth Doctor Adventures_.**

* * *

 _ **The story so far…**_

 **The Doctor's finally rewarded Charlie with a TARDIS key. He might have earned the Time Lord's trust, but they've seen each other's darkest thoughts, and the Doctor knows the boy is keeping something from him.**

 **He wants to find out what, but that might just put them in more danger.**

* * *

The Doctor had been in worse situations. Not many, but there were several he could name.

Just a few days ago, he'd almost been killed by an Arachnid. If it weren't for Charlie, he might never have made it into another spot of deadly peril.

 _Out of the frying pan, into the fire_ , he mused.

Well, more like an endless wave of frying pans, and they were all already on fire, spitting flames like a dragon having a sneezing fit. What was it they used to say about the Doctor's dangerous lifestyle?

At present, the Doctor was standing on a stage, surrounded by dozens of chanting people. There were hundreds more watching, projected on holographic viewscreens stretched out across the wall of the chamber.

Good so far, yes?

No. For tonight, the Doctor was the main act, and the show he was about to perform was his own execution.

The chanting had grown more intense. Despite the Doctor's above average hearing, he couldn't make out any of the words the crowd were screaming. It was lost in the sheer noise of the ecstatic roars of this alien population.

The Doctor was 86 percent certain he'd make it out of this one intact. That number had dropped a little over the last half hour, but it was still reasonably high.

He was restrained beneath a huge column, expertly painted gunmetal-grey to look like an ancient weapon; an historical artefact, a relic of a hundred massacres. Crackling arcs of purple electricity webbed across the ceiling of the room, converging on the weapon, supposedly powering up the deadly laser.

The Doctor knew it was all just for show. Everyone loved a spectacle. He'd seen the weapon being set up this morning. The spitting bolts of electricity didn't actually do anything.

He had to applaud the set design, if nothing else. At least, he would if his hands weren't bound.

He was currently shackled up in these overly high-tech restraints, completely encapsulating his hands, and occasionally zapping him with high voltage shocks.

Fortunately, these primitives didn't understand Time Lord biology, and vastly underestimated his capacity for pain. At best, the shocks were mildly irritating.

Unfortunately, they had confiscated his sonic screwdriver, which made escape that little bit trickier. Not that he'd have been able to get to it anyway. Not with his hands trapped inside orbs the size of bowling balls.

The odds were not promising.

Even so, the Doctor _had_ been in worse situations than this. He could count on his fingers the number of stickier spots he'd been in. Taking all of his past lives into account, that was 29 hands, making a total of 232 fingers. (If you weren't including thumbs.)

There was an outburst of roars, and applause.

The Doctor hadn't been paying attention to the announcer's speech, but it was evidently time to activate the Big Death Machine. Of Death.

That probably wasn't its name, but the Doctor was willing to bet that it was something along those lines. He'd stake his life on it. (Not that he'd need to)

In the event that they did get around to delivering a lethal charge of concentrated laser fire straight to his nervous system, which may or may not disintegrate him, his respiratory bypass system would kick in, and his chances of survival would increase by 22%.

Which would leave his chances of survival at… about 22%. Give or take.

If that didn't work, this angry mob would have some new fella to deal with, and he'd be a tad cross. Either way he looked at it, it was SEP.

 _SEP?_

Somebody Else's Problem.

It was on days like these that the Doctor was really glad to have his friends around him. He could always rely on Donna, or Sarah Jane, or Peri to get him out of a sticky situation.

On second thoughts, perhaps not Peri, as fond of her as the Doctor was. She had a talent for getting them both _into_ these kinds of situations.

However, at this moment in time, Charlie Drake was nowhere to be seen.

Useless boy. He was probably moping in a corner somewhere, smashing his phone to pieces.

There was something about the boy which couldn't be trusted. Besides, humans had such tiny brains; they were so easily distracted. He'd probably settled down and started a family or something, and forgotten about him. Perhaps one of his descendants would be intrigued by the story of how he came to this place, and would try and rescue him.

Wait, how quickly did humans breed again? Might have been getting mixed up with rabbits. Very similar. Apart from the ears.

"Stop!" a voice yelled.

 _Hold on_ … that was Charlie's voice.

The Doctor threw him a confused frown.

 _Where did he spring from?_

Charlie was standing on the stage in front of him, his arms open wide, making sure the guards didn't step any closer.

Which was incredibly brave of him, considering the fact that the guards were armed with buzzing laser whips.

The Doctor rewound a few seconds, reviewing his memory to pick out where the boy had been hiding.

Ah, so Charlie had been quietly making his way through the crowd, his face shielded by his hoodie. He'd been concealed so well amongst the roaring crowd, no-one had noticed him approach until it was too late – not the executioners, not the cameras, not even him.

Well, he was nothing if not determined, the Doctor conceded.

"You didn't think I'd come, did you?" Charlie whispered.

"I never doubted you for a second," the Doctor grinned.

Charlie's face lit up with a genuinely surprised smile. For a moment, the Doctor was incredibly proud of the boy.

"What is the meaning of this?" the biggest executioner demanded.

"This… uh," Charlie stammered. His nerves were getting to him, and it was clear that he hadn't thought this far ahead. He glanced anxiously around at the half-dozen guards slowly advancing towards him, cracking their knuckles and coiling their whips.

There were some things the Doctor didn't quite understand about this boy. He was pretty awkward – even for a teenager – and clearly lacked a certain degree of confidence. Yet his ability to show such courage under pressure was impressive.

"This execution is… a mistake!" Charlie managed.

His raised voice was wavering; crumbling under the weight of hundreds of eyes turned on him, thirsty for the Doctor's blood.

"A mistake?" queried one of the guards, sharing a puzzled look with a colleague.

"Yeah." Charlie shot nervous glances between them.

"Nope, he's scheduled in for the seventh timeslot," the announcer spoke up, checking the notes on the holographic display circling his wrist.

The TV cameras flew in closer, capturing the drama unfold from all angles.

"Well, he shouldn't be scheduled in," Charlie retorted.

"What are you saying?" the announcer asked, patting his brightly coloured hairdo; concentrating more on his appearance for the cameras than Charlie's desperate interruption.

"I am… saying… that he's… um… innocent," Charlie croaked.

The announcer, who looked frankly ridiculous in his glittering green three-piece suit, was unmoved by Charlie's garbled protest.

"Very convincing. Good job," the Doctor muttered quietly.

Charlie threw him a look, indicating that he was being unhelpful.

The Doctor shrugged, accidentally making eye contact with one of the burly guards, who grimaced at him.

"The trial was unfair. The voting was rigged," Charlie argued; his arms pleadingly outstretched.

"There was a fifty two percent swing in favour of execution," the announcer informed him, scrolling through the statistics floating in the air above his hands, "By the laws of our people, he must be sentenced to death."

"Ah! There you go. We're not of your people. We're from another world."

The Doctor cringed. Not a sensible move.

Still, the boy's confidence was improving. His muscles were less tense, and there were fewer beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

"They're aliens?"

The guards shrugged, and a susurration of awestruck xenophobia rolled through the crowd.

"Therefore, the laws that govern your people do not apply to us," Charlie continued, his voice growing stronger.

There was an uncomfortable pause, which became exponentially more awkward as the length of the pause dragged on.

"Technically, he's right," the announcer's aide muttered, jumping momentarily in front of the camera drones, "The laws of punishment may only be instigated upon a person of Morovia."

"But _are_ they aliens, though?" one of the guards grunted, expressing the doubts of many of his colleagues, who were all quite anxious to get back to work.

"Course they are. Are you thick? They look nothing like us," argued another of the very human-like beings.

" _But…_ if he's swinging the alien thing, he's not actually protected by the Morovan Rights Act," the aide continued.

"Does that mean we can kill him anyway?" the first guard questioned, tangible excitement betraying his professional demeanour.

"Uh… I think so. There's probably nothing stopping you from executing _both_ of them."

"Can we do that? Won't that violate the Extra-terrestrial Equality Act?" the announcer wondered, covering the recording device surgically inserted into his cheekbone, to keep their moment of indecision concealed from the ears of the viewing public.

"Well, if they're not from one of our partner worlds, and they've chosen not to act upon the Extra-terrestrial Equality Act, then we don't have to treat them fairly."

"Excellent!" one of the executioner's lips curled in glee.

"Well then, youngling, prepare for your summary execution," the announcer decided.

"Oh ho. Nice work," the Doctor chortled.

"Shut up!" Charlie hissed back.

"Stand on the second torture disc, please." An executioner prodded him with a carbon fibre rod.

"Not a bloody chance!" Charlie swiped the stick away from his torso.

"It's not open for discussion," the announcer reasoned, "The crowd are eager for a bit of action. They won't be happy about the delay as it is, so we might as well try and please them. We can't afford to lose our ratings."

"You can't make me," Charlie snapped.

"And why's that?" the announcer responded, with a hint of weariness.

"Because I am from a civilisation far more advanced than yours," Charlie's voice rose grandiosely, "The technology in my possession is far more advanced than anything on this world."

Charlie pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, held it aloft for a moment, then aimed it at the Doctor's cuffs.

"Quick! Stop him!" the announcer yelled, "He's using a sonic disruptor to disable the restraints!"

The orbs encapsulating the Doctor's wrists folded away into a thin strip of metal twisted into a figure of eight, and clattered to the floor.

The Doctor nursed some life back into his numb hands, and reinforced Charlie's efforts by taking a place by his side.

"Yes, that one only works on species of lower technology classes," he muttered to him.

"You're welcome," Charlie grunted back through gritted teeth.

The executioners stepped towards them, flexing their muscles, and turning their weapons up to 12. The hum from the power cells was audible as the crowd held its breath.

"How did you find it?" the Doctor asked, accepting the proffered screwdriver from Charlie.

"The Chancellor's daughter helped me out."

"Ah yes, the Chancellor's daughter," the Doctor uttered, his brows dropping into a scowl. "Remind me, which one was the chancellor?"

"Tall guy? Stupid hat," Charlie reminded him, "You know, the one who ordered your execution?"

"Ah yes…" the Doctor pursed his lips in disgust as the unpleasant memory resurfaced.

"Now, how do we get out?" Charlie asked.

The guards had the stage surrounded. There were more storming through the audience, cutting off any escape.

"We can climb up the big deadly laser, and escape through the roof?" the Doctor pointed at the Big Death Machine.

"Is that a good idea?" Charlie responded in disbelief, nervously glancing at the arcs of electricity dancing over the weapon's surface.

"It's either that, or we try and escape through the crowd of bloodthirsty viewers, who've been waiting for my execution all day."

Charlie nodded. "Okay. Fair point. Roof it is."

"Good. Ready?" the Doctor asked.

There was a nod from Charlie.

The Doctor began their escape with a quick swish and flick of the sonic, diverting the intense arcs of electricity away from the deadly laser, and towards the camera drones instead.

Through the confusion of spectacularly exploding cameras, the Doctor and Charlie clambered up the metal cylinder.

The machine creaked under their weight; he quickly realised the material was a cheap substitute – not the sturdy metal alloy it had first appeared to be. He wasn't sure it would support both of them; a concern which quickly passed when they scrambled out of the building through the weapon's power cells, exposed on the roof of the execution studios.

"That way!" Charlie pointed across the rooftop, where there was a ladder which would take them down to ground level. Evidently, he had scouted the area beforehand, and knew about the fire escapes on the side of the building.

Flashes of laser fire scorching the roof at their feet forced Charlie to consider a change of plans.

There were guards rising above them inside small quadcopters, their weapons churning up the concrete around them.

The Doctor and Charlie dived behind the cover of the tall cylinders they had escaped through.

"We'll have to find another way down," the Doctor suggested.

"Where?" urged Charlie peeking around the cylinder to count the guards attacking them.

The Doctor thrust his thumb towards the wall of guards closing in on them. "Probably not that way."

Charlie gaped at him in disbelief.

"You seem remarkably calm about all this," he exclaimed.

"That's because I'm with you," the Doctor answered, his face carefully sculpted into an expression of honesty, trust.

Charlie's features dipped into a frown.

"But… you could have _died_ down there!"

The Doctor shrugged, chuckling to himself.

"Not really. I could have escaped if I'd wanted to."

"But…" Charlie was speechless. "Why…"

It took him a moment to work it out. "Were you… testing me again?"

"I wanted to see what you'd do," the Doctor admitted. "You're doing very well, by the way."

A large explosion from a motion-sensing grenade spat flames in their direction, singing the metal cylinders.

"Right… _fine_ ," Charlie growled, grabbing the Doctor's arm, and pulling him away. The Doctor ran after him, following Charlie's newly improvised escape route.


	2. The Rescue

They were running along the roof of one of many identical studios, sharing ugly brutalist architecture. The buildings had been constructed close together, making the most efficient use of space, with perhaps a four foot gap between each roof. The space was narrow enough to jump across – which was exactly what they were about to do.

They were ten or so storeys high, skipping across the tall buildings under heavy fire.

It seemed Charlie was less concerned by the height of the drop than he might once have been. He'd come a long way since Solos Nine.

The Doctor was struck with a thought, brought on by Charlie's show of leadership in response to his little challenge.

Charlie was trying to be like him. He was trying to imitate the Doctor's reckless escapology. The boy still looked up to him, as a role model – even after their half-forgotten misadventures inside the Doctor's mind and memories.

Perhaps Charlie wasn't simply running away from his life. He was trying to be someone else.

Eventually, Charlie found another fire escape, and they quickly made their way down to ground level. The narrow passageways between the buildings shielded them a little from the quadcopters and their inaccurate weapons.

"Which way now?" the Doctor asked.

Charlie peered around the corner of a building, apparently spotted some more guards, and pulled away.

"I don't know. This wasn't the escape route I'd planned!"

The Doctor smirked, as Charlie took off in the opposite direction.

"Surely you might have guessed this would happen?"

They raced down the empty streets. It was impossible to tell where they were going; the buildings were too densely packed together. They caught glimpses of guards running parallel to them on both sides.

Quite suddenly, the road they were following came to an end.

Charlie staggered to a halt, grabbing hold of the barrier that prevented him from taking another step, which would have ended in a large drop.

Judging by the boy's expression, this world's geography was not quite as he was expecting.

What, did he think this entire planet was filled with these old grey buildings?

The 40 foot drop would plunge them into a bubbling blue body of water. They were on a metal island, rising out of the ocean on stilts, amongst a sea of others.

The ocean was vast, and so was the spread of the local population. The more distant structures were mere specks, shrouded by a blanket of mist.

From the differences in architecture, some of the other islands were clearly home to wealthier inhabitants. The island directly across from them invited you to gaze at the splendour, the magnificence of the palaces and the monuments. Twisting glass spires speared the sky, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

The Morovans were an innovative people. They had conquered this inhospitable landscape, and built beautiful cities above the oceans. The Doctor could only imagine that the deserts of this world (if there ever were any) would have been transformed into tropical paradises.

In the sky, all manner of dirigibles drifted between the islands. From tiny wooden boats to luxury yachts, all suspended under gigantic balloons.

The Doctor marvelled at the sight, and he failed to suppress a grin.

However, Charlie was already panicking.

"What can we do? Could we swim?"

"No," the Doctor dismissed the idea, still transfixed by the ocean vista, "the ocean is acidic. It would strip the flesh from our bones."

"Oh. Nice," Charlie returned pointedly. "I thought you said this was the safest place in the universe."

The Doctor shot a puzzled grin at him. "No, I don't think that's what I said."

"Yeah, you did."

He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I said _not_ the safest place in the universe. You must have misheard."

Charlie was visibly annoyed. The expression on his face was quite amusing, really. How was it possible to look so kind and inoffensive when he was probably seething with rage on the inside?

"We can talk about this later," Charlie grunted, noticing the guards emerging from a six-wheeled truck behind them.

The guards were all armed with strange and rather technically fascinating weapons. Laser whips, flaming spears, crossbow bolters, to name a few.

One of the guards spoke up:

"By the honour of the Chancellor of the Broadcasting Franchise, your execution will be carried out immediately. Are the cameras rolling?"

The guard turned back, to check on the progress of a camera drone capturing the scene from the relative safety of the vehicle.

Another individual pushed his way through the armed men, thrusting what might have been a microphone at the Doctor.

"Do you have any sensational remarks you'd like to share with us before your termination?"

"We're both completely innocent," the Doctor declared, raising his hands in surrender.

The man gaped at him like an idiot.

"Well, you asked for sensational…" the Doctor muttered.

"Stop! I will not stand for this," a female voice commanded.

The soldiers stepped back, to allow a young girl with long, blonde braided hair to make her way towards the centre of what had quickly become a stage.

The cameras trained in on her, finding the perfect angles to capture her resplendent dress, a little washed out, but still glittering in the intense sunlight.

"Lyrosa!" Charlie exclaimed, lowering his hands.

"You know her?" the Doctor queried. "What a coincidence."

"That's the Chancellor's daughter," Charlie informed him excitedly.

"Which one was the Chancellor again?" the Doctor queried.

"You know, the one…" Charlie stopped, and glared at him. "Are you doing that on purpose?"

"No," the Doctor uttered, waving his hands innocently, his high-pitched tone giving him away.

"These two are under my protection. You will not execute them," Lyrosa ordered to the assembly of guards and camera crews.

"Well, that's a relief," the Doctor muttered cynically, thrusting his hands back into his pockets.

The guards lowered their weapons, looking at one another in confusion.

"Wow," the same announcer who'd tried to interview him earlier spoke into his microphone, his charming gaze directed at one of the cameras, "What a surprising turn of events. Chancellor Kan's lovely daughter, the Lady Lyrosa, has stepped in to save the two alien creatures. What a bold move from her ladyship. Could this be one royal privilege too far? Could this spark a revolution that will topple the Chancellor's reign? Or will it lose her millions of followers on _InstaSnap_?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes, and ignored the man.

"Leave us," Lyrosa spoke to the assembly of guards. Her tone was light, gentle - but her commands hit their mark.

Shrugging, the guards regrouped, and climbed back aboard their vehicle. Within a few minutes, the sound stage which had been rapidly assembled around them was broken down, and the three of them were alone.

"Why are you helping us?" the Doctor questioned Lyrosa.

She couldn't have been older than Charlie. At a guess, she was sixteen at most. The Doctor was familiar with the celebrity culture of this world, and was surprised that someone so young was going out of their way to help someone else.

"The programmes are barbaric," she replied simply. "And besides, the pretty one asked me very nicely."

Her eyes flicked towards Charlie, the dimples in her cheeks accentuating her cheeky smile.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, and turned to his friend.

"Wait, me?" Charlie spluttered, incredulous.

The Doctor snorted, watching Charlie's cheeks flush a deep red.

"I will offer you sanctuary in the Chancellery palace."

"Great!" Charlie exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically.

"…As consorts," Lyrosa finished.

Charlie looked at the Doctor for a moment, quite taken aback.

"Uh… we don't have to _do_ anything for that, do we?"

Lyrosa smiled. "No, of course not. It's just a legal thing."

She tilted her head, flirtatiously. "I mean, you can if you want…"

"No, no, I'm good," Charlie quickly replied, thrusting his hands into his jeans to avoid his nervous twitching.

The Doctor couldn't contain a grin, which Charlie noticed, and quickly averted his gaze, scowling at the concrete instead.

Lyrosa shot the Doctor a questioning look. He shrugged in response.

No, he wasn't sure why the boy was acting so embarrassed all of a sudden in front of a girl, either.

"Come. My father's private yacht awaits." Lyrosa began to glide away, her dress sweeping gravel aside as she walked.

"Yeah, I just need a moment," Charlie croaked, pushing his hand out towards the stone wall of a building.

The Doctor's smile dropped, as Charlie hunched up against the wall, like he was about to be sick.

Surely, he hadn't taken that joke too much to heart?

He rushed over, grabbing Charlie's shoulder, wondering what could be wrong. His skin had turned pale. He looked genuinely unwell.

"Charlie?"

Lyrosa turned back, her fair, pencil-thin brows twitching in concern.

"Is he alright?"

Charlie tried to wave the Doctor away, but the movement was feeble.

The Doctor grabbed his wrist. The boy's pulse was quickening – he was breaking out in a fevered sweat.

A quick scan with the sonic confirmed that the boy was seriously ill.

"Deep breaths, Charlie," the Doctor urged.

Charlie didn't listen; his panicked breathing quickened.

He was scrabbling at his throat, struggling to draw breath.

Lyrosa was by his side, moments before Charlie crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

She brushed the boy's dark hair aside, and pressed her fingers against his forehead.

"He's burning up!" she uttered in horror. "He needs medical attention. We need to get him to a doctor!"

"Fortunately, we're in the right place," the Doctor muttered gravely.


	3. Face the Strange

Nightmares and unimaginable creatures were swimming before his eyes. He dreamt of the horrors of the past, and of the worse things yet to come.

He was so very lost and alone; adrift in the universe. Not aimlessly wandering, as he often pretended, but running away.

 _But soon_ , the voice promised, _soon, the sacred temple would be ready_.

"Nate!" Charlie gasped, waking suddenly from his dream, which vanished from memory almost as soon as his eyes were open.

He gasped again, suddenly realising that Lyrosa was kneeling at his bedside.

"Are you feeling better now?" she asked softly, wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. "The physicians said that the ailment had passed."

Charlie's clothes were soaked with his sweat. So were the expensive sheets on the king size bed.

He realised that he was in someone's luxury apartment. Lyrosa's chamber in her father's palace, at a guess. Expensive furs and fabrics lined the walls of the room, partially covering digital paintings. The paintings moved, he noticed, watching a flying ship with billowing sails tumble through a stormy sky.

He felt kinda bad about getting in this state in such an expensive looking room.

His throat was burning, too, like he'd just thrown up. Charlie really hoped he hadn't. He really wouldn't be making a good impression.

"Who is Nate?" Lyrosa asked, folding her arms and leaning on the edge of the bed.

Charlie turned to her, his puzzled eyes analysing her expression.

"He's…" Charlie sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"You sounded worried." Lyrosa's concern seemed genuine.

"He's gone," Charlie replied tersely.

"Gone?"

"I lost him."

"Can he be found?"

Charlie chewed on his lip for a moment.

"I don't know," he said quietly.

The girl was alarmingly close to him. Charlie could feel her warm breath prickling against his skin. It made him itch.

"Uh… can you not?" he ventured.

"Is my closeness making you uncomfortable?" Lyrosa asked, retreating a little way with a smirk.

"Little bit," Charlie muttered through clenched teeth.

She giggled, which really didn't help. Charlie felt even more awkward.

When he first met her, and she'd agreed to help him, he hadn't considered the possibility that she'd… liked him?

He had been in a desperate spot, with only a few hours left to save the Doctor before the execution. Lyrosa's feelings hadn't been at the forefront of his mind. Nor his own, for that matter.

The more Charlie overthought the situation, the less sure he was about his feelings towards Lyrosa. _Did_ he fancy her?

She was pretty, sure. But she was also an alien. A rich, powerful alien who made him feel uncomfortable.

Charlie quashed that train of thought. Bloody hormones.

"Where's the Doctor?" he asked.

"He went inside his police-public-call-box," Lyrosa answered, checking her notes on her holographic wrist device.

"Oh. Okay."

Lyrosa continued: "Free-for-the-use-of-"

Charlie nodded, waving his hand to stop her. "Yeah – the… police box… yeah."

She smiled. "Wasn't that its name?"

Charlie's mouth hung open for a moment, as he processed Lyrosa's misunderstanding.

"I think that's just a sign on the door…"

Lyrosa clamped her hand around her wrist; the holographic image of the TARDIS vanished.

"Will he be back?"

Charlie nodded.

"Yeah, I should think so."

He was pretty confident the Doctor would return. Regardless of whether the Doctor truly trusted him or not, he knew the Doctor wouldn't just leave him behind on an alien world.

Lyrosa stared introspectively at a beautifully patterned rug.

"It's nice that the two of you have such a close relationship," she muttered.

"A close what?" Charlie queried. Did she mean what he thought she meant?

"The two of you have absolute faith in one another." Lyrosa paused a moment, and shrugged. "My father and I do not connect well. Are conversations are artificial, woven with mistrust."

Ah. _That_ kind of relationship.

"Yeah. I trust the Doctor," Charlie agreed. "You think he trusts me?"

"Yes, I do," Lyrosa answered, thoughtfully.

She stared at his arm for a moment. Her lips twitched, pondering on a question.

"What are these?" she asked after a while, her fingernails gently touching his skin.

With a jolt, Charlie realised that his sleeves had been rolled up, exposing his scarred forearm.

It sickened him becoming aware that he had let his guard down, and that he'd accidentally let the marks from his past be seen.

"They're just cuts," he said pointedly.

Lyrosa noticed the sharpness of his tone, and responded with empathy: "Who did this to you?"

"No-one." Charlie shook his head, and pulled the sleeve of his hoodie back over the marks. "It was… my fault."

She rested her chin on her crossed arms, her expression glum, perhaps trying to show she understood his sadness. Perhaps encouraging him to confide in her.

Damn, Charlie thought. He was overanalysing every detail about her reactions again. She wasn't his therapist.

"How much pain must you have been in to do this to yourself?" she whispered.

"I…" Charlie sighed.

"It'll be okay, I promise. Morovia is home to some of the finest physicians in the five galaxies. They can heal all kinds of wounds." Lyrosa smiled warmly. "Not just physical ones."

Charlie nodded. "Thanks, I guess."

The holographic bracelet around Lyrosa's wrist lit up with a swirling symbol.

Her reaction to it seemed to hold an air of defeat.

Lyrosa pushed away from the bed, and stood up. "You will be well, Charlie. But I have to leave now."

"Wait, uh… why?"

"My father has summoned me."

"Your father…? I've not gotten you into trouble, have I?"

After all the help she had given him, Charlie had not forgotten that she was the daughter of an extremely influential man – his surroundings were a constant reminder. Her decision to step in and save them would have had serious ramifications.

"You have, I'm afraid. Don't forget, my father wished your friend executed. My actions will have placed him under heavy criticism from the media."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Charlie mumbled awkwardly.

"Don't be," she said quietly as she left.

Lyrosa hesitated before passing through the doorway. Her kind expression had turned to steel. Her mask of determination flickered; she looked as though she were about to say something else. Ultimately, she decided against it, and drifted away.

* * *

The Doctor had some serious thinking to do.

There was a lot going on at the moment (when wasn't there?), so he hadn't spared much thought to the questions about his travelling companion.

Something was very wrong with him. Not just the strange sickness which was ailing him now and had caused him to collapse suddenly in a fevered state.

This was about Kate Stewart and his other allies at UNIT. They had warned him about the boy just after their first meeting. Kate had shown him a photograph from the Moonbase, proving that the two of them would travel together.

The laws of time dictated that this now had to happen. (If he overlooked all those other times when he had decided they didn't. Perhaps he needed to be a little clearer on what the laws of time actually were.)

From that moment it was fixed that he and Charlie would go to the Moonbase together.

He'd deliberately led him into a couple of potentially dangerous situations beforehand to assess how well Charlie would perform under pressure, to ensure he was ready for whatever challenges they would face on the Moon.

Even so, death by spider pregnancy wasn't something either of them was emotionally prepared for. (He could ponder on the ethics of that one later).

True, the Moonbase episode had been rather a disastrous one, but they'd both survived - just. He had Charlie to thank for that. Without the boy's courage, they might not have made it.

A change of hearts had thrown a sonic spanner in the works somewhat. The Doctor's initial plan had been to allow the Moonbase adventure to pan out – sit out the paradox, and then drop Charlie back home. But naturally, things had become a little more complicated.

He had discovered something very worrying inside the boy's mind. He knew that Charlie was hiding something. That had been obvious from the moment they met. But he'd assumed that it was something unimportant and human-related.

How wrong can you be?

Charlie's secret was definitely important, and probably alien. There was a creature – quite possibly a very dangerous one – living inside the boy's mind.

It was all linked – the Wraiths, the virus, the defeat of the Arachnid Queen. The Doctor found it greatly intriguing. This creature was going to show itself again sooner or later. Perhaps then, he'd be able to gather more information about its intentions.

Swept up by an impulse following their near death experience, he'd given the boy a TARDIS key. He'd offered him the chance to keep travelling through time and space – and the Charlie had accepted.

The Doctor didn't see a problem with that. Despite all the warnings, despite his own reservations, and this mysterious 'Vyper', Charlie had proven himself a capable and trustworthy friend. He'd saved their lives a couple of times, now. And damn it, he'd actually started to like the boy.

But he was still missing a piece of the puzzle. The facts didn't quite fit. It all revolved around the assumption that Charlie had no idea this creature was inside his head. He hadn't known about the Vyper virus on Solos Nine – the thing had tried to kill both of them anyway. And Charlie hadn't known about his defeat of the Arachnids. It simply wasn't there in his memories. Why would Charlie consciously try to hide something he knew nothing about?

There must be something else. Another secret the boy was hiding. And he was fairly sure this secret revolved around someone called Nate.

This was something he really ought to find out, lest it plunge them into a lot more trouble. (And frankly, they were in enough trouble already).

"Doctor?"

The physician shook the Doctor from his thoughts.

The physician's name was Nera, a fact the Doctor had filed in his short term memory, and would delete later. Nera was a small, slender woman, whose toothpick arms looked as though they might snap if one were to shake her hand too hard. She was offering a data pad to him, which he accepted.

He examined the swirling readings, graphs and charts scattered across the screen.

"What am I looking at?"

The physician seemed lost for a moment, before responding. "You asked me to take additional scans of the boy's brain."

She was an elderly woman, whose voice quivered throughout every sentence.

"Did I?" queried the Doctor. "I suppose I must have done."

The physician shook her head, tottering back to her immaculate white desk, busying herself with another data pad.

The Doctor quickly deciphered the readings showing Charlie's brain scans. The alien equipment was unfamiliar with human biology, but it was reasonably similar to the local anatomy, so the software was able to cope.

He knew that Charlie was seriously ill. He had no idea how long this had been developing, or what was causing it, though the suspicions of the mysterious Vyper lingered in his mind.

The TARDIS held no answers. She didn't even seem to think that there was anything wrong with him. Charlie was registering as a perfectly healthy human lifeform.

That's why he was here. On Morovia. He would have come sooner, if it weren't for the TARDIS landing on the wrong island.

This planet was home to the best doctors he knew of. They were supposedly the best diagnostic practitioners specialising in humanoid ailments this side of the Tiberian Spiral Galaxy. If they couldn't find out what was wrong with Charlie, then by medical definition, nothing _was_ wrong with him.

"This can't be right," the Doctor scoffed.

"No?" Nera queried, peering at him over her surgical goggles.

"No. I _know_ there's something wrong with him," the Doctor insisted, pacing the room, his arms flapping in agitation.

The physician watched him, without moving from her station.

"The boy is in perfect health," she stated.

The Doctor threw his arms up in the air, and growled in annoyance. He thrust the data pad under the woman's slender nose, and stabbed the screen.

"Then what the hell is this?"

Nera brushed the Doctor's fingers aside, and examined the anatomical diagram he was pointing to. "The heart appears to be beating at a steady rate."

" _Both_ of them?" the Doctor roared.

Nera's eyes locked on to him, and she raised an eyebrow. "Yes, they both appear to be normal."

"Humans don't have two hearts!" the Doctor almost yelled at her.

"Oh." Nera's brows crumpled in confusion, apparently oblivious to the serious repercussions of this revelation. "I thought he was like you."

"He's not…" The Doctor stopped himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose, reeling in his fury.

Yes, he could see how Nera had arrived at her conclusion. Without key pieces of information, it was a logical assumption.

His mind raced to another conclusion. He might well have overlooked the validity of one or two of his own assumptions. What could one deduce from the elimination of impossibilities?

"This isn't a viral infection," the Doctor conjectured. "It's not a sickness at all. It's some kind of parasite!"

* * *

Charlie was bored.

He had been feeling strong enough to get up and walk around for a while now. In that time, he had allowed himself to be awestruck by the technology in Lyrosa's room.

A concave strip of clear plastic, which housed an array of miniscule printer nozzles, puzzled him. It sat on the dresser, amongst a number of beauty products, and its shape implied that fit over one's face, as a mask.

Charlie guessed that it might be a make-up dispenser, automatically painting the face with synthesized colours. Perhaps it even had the capability to alter one's appearance - a portable plastic surgeon?

The dressing table mirror was pretty intriguing, too. It allowed his reflection to be turned around with the swipe of his fingers, allowing him to view his head from behind – and see that his mop of hair was a complete mess.

And with this technology belonging to Lady Lyrosa, daughter of a chancellor, Charlie had no idea whether these were unique luxury items, or simply commonplace products found everywhere on the planet.

It made him grin stupidly, until he caught his expression in the mirror.

Seeing his face grounded him on this alien world, reminding him where he was, who he was, and why he was here.

He had been really sick – and he still was. His stomach was churning up a factory of bile, his legs were shaking, and his skin pallid and sweaty.

He drew in a deep breath, suppressing a growing discomfort spreading through his body.

He shuffled away from the mirror, concentrating on the nauseating feeling as it reached his legs.

Charlie arched backwards as a stabbing sensation severed his spine, expelling the breath from his lungs.

His legs stopped supporting him, and he crashed to the floor, gasping for breath. Writhing pathetically, like a drowning worm, Charlie struggled upright once more.

He spent a few minutes rubbing some life back into the numb limbs, until they were moving again. Once he was sure he could flex his toes, he relaxed.

 _Panic over._ He was okay.

Charlie nodded. "I'm sure it's fine…"

"Oh!" a voice uttered in surprise. "Hello."

Startled, Charlie twisted round, but there was no-one behind him.

"Who's there?"

Had someone entered the room in his moment of panic?

"Please don't be alarmed," they said levelly.

This time, he felt it – the skin on the back of his neck pulled taught as the voice spoke.

Pulling himself up to the dressing table, Charlie looked in the mirror, fearing what he was about to see, as his brain drew impossible conclusions.

He craned his neck, struggling to see in the mirror, until he remembered that the mirror could display more than a simple reflection.

His hand shaking, Charlie reached for the cold surface of the mirror, and dragged his finger along the screen.

As the view of his head revolved, that churning sensation in his stomach returned.

There was a face, poking through the hair on the back of his head. It smiled at him.

Charlie fell away from the mirror in shock.

"What the hell…?"


	4. Faceoff

This world is built upon spectacle. Sensation. Fashion. Trends. Celebrities. If something's popular, it thrives.

That's why the physicians of this world are so advanced. The general viewing public are fascinated by the gruesome workings of their bodies.

At one time, people consumed anatomy documentaries with such incredible hunger, physicians held the highest viewing figures – and the monopoly on the broadcast franchises. As the dissections and operations become more graphic and less informative, people began to watch gratuitous gore performed for entertainment, instead of scientific discovery.

It is the physicians who branch out into the entertainment sector, developing new examination probes, torture devices, and weapons, who are the wealthiest and the most popular celebrities.

It is the person who cuts creatures up for fun, who gains the most views. On this world, views are almost a form of currency.

Lyrosa's intervention in the execution of the Doctor and Charlie had gained her over a quarter of a million views within five minutes of it happening. Charlie had just increased her net worth – not that Lyrosa was particularly concerned about that.

Whilst interest and attention had increased for her, animosity had risen exponentially. Thousands had eagerly anticipated the Doctor's execution, and this intervention had left them starved of watchable content.

Chancellor Kan, Chief Executive of the Broadcasting Franchise, had come under a lot of criticism regarding his daughter's actions. It doesn't look good when your own children undermine you.

It had only been two hours, and already people were calling for his head. For his dismissal from his own company, and with any luck, his execution on a live broadcast.

Charlie was completely unaware of all of this.

The Doctor, on the other hand, had been mindful of the planet's culture (even if he didn't _really_ get it). He had hoped to avoid getting caught up in the politics of Morovia; he had been to worlds like it before, where the local populace were so brutal, and worse, completely resistant to any form of change.

* * *

Right now, Charlie was a little worried by the strange face that had emerged from the back of his skull.

In fact, he was completely freaking out.

A multitude of thoughts flooded through his mind, mostly wondering how in the world this could have happened, and that whatever it was, was _really really_ bad.

The Doctor had warned him that their journey into unknown corners of the universe could be dangerous – but he had never considered something like this happening.

He had glimpsed the creature in the mirror. He had tried to study it, but he couldn't bear to look at it for more than a few seconds. It made him physically unwell to look at it.

The thing shared his pale complexion, and heavy, tired eyes. But those eyes were more alive, and burning with a fierce intelligence – something far greater than his own.

The roar of the TARDIS engines reverberated around the room. It filled Charlie with a sliver of hope. The Doctor would fix this.

"What's that?" the face on the back of his head mused aloud. He could feel its jaw pulling at his neck each time it spoke. It made his skin crawl.

Charlie span round, watching fretfully as the police box slowly materialised. The air crackled with static; the charged particles dragged into the world from the Time Vortex dissipated into the atmosphere.

"Charlie!" The Doctor bolted out of the doors as soon as the TARDIS landed, and immediately thrust the sonic screwdriver at him.

A thin woman peered out of the TARDIS after him, muttering to herself in fascination.

"Charlie, I think you might be very sick. Are you feeling okay?" the Doctor questioned him in a tone that sounded too aggressive to be one of concern.

"No!" Charlie whined, gesturing behind him. He desperately wanted to get back inside the TARDIS, to escape this new nightmare.

The Doctor peered over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

"What is it? Because I think you've been infected with a parasitic organism… Oh."

The Doctor circled him, examining the face with the sonic. "Yes, I see."

"Doctor, this thing's gone all _Voldemort_ on the back of my head!" Charlie shouted, turning to the Doctor.

The Doctor threw him a look of irritation, as he twisted Charlie's head back round, to get a better look at the creature emerging from the back of his head.

"Can you get rid of it?" Charlie asked him, the panic swelling in his chest once more. "Can you get rid of this thing?"

"Excuse me!" the voice interjected, "I am not a thing, I am a sentient individual, I'll have you know."

The Doctor's other eyebrow shot up, accompanying its colleague in surprise. "Oh! You are, aren't you?"

He thrust the sonic beneath his nose, plunging deep into thought. His inquisitive glare locked onto the alien visage.

"This is unlike anything I've ever heard about," the woman declared, joining the Doctor outside of Charlie's line of sight, to ogle the face.

"Oh yeah," the Doctor realised he had not explained the woman's presence, and hastily introduced her. "Charlie, this is Nera. She's a physician."

"Great," Charlie sighed, without a hint of enthusiasm or welcome.

He felt physically left out, with everyone else in the room standing behind him, staring at his back. Whilst he could just make out where the Doctor and Nera were from their reflections in the mirror, he couldn't clearly see what was going on.

"What an interesting phenomenon," Nera uttered in awe.

"Yeah, thanks Nera. He's my friend, not a science experiment," the Doctor growled.

"Which one?" Nera remarked.

Charlie heard the face smirk, and he clenched his fist. At a loss for what to do with his hand, he pressed it to his lips in agitation.

"Doctor…?" Charlie spoke quietly, deliberately. His frustration at being ignored was getting to him.

"Shush!" the Doctor silenced him.

"What are you? Do you belong to a species?" he began firing questions at the face, "Or are you unique? A new hybrid race? And why Charlie? How did you come to exist?"

"Gosh," the face chuckled, "that's a lot of questions. I'll do my best to answer them, but I _was_ born this morning, so I can't guarantee that I actually know anything."

Charlie held his breath. He could _feel_ the intensity of the Doctor's scrutiny. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably.

The Doctor didn't like unanswered questions. He wasn't fond of smart-arses either. He particularly disliked alien nasties talking back to him. (That was _his_ thing).

"Fair enough!" the Doctor shrugged excitedly, after a moment, "Do you have a name?"

"A name?" Charlie protested, "It's a face on the back of my head!"

"Charlie!" the Doctor berated him, "It's clearly an alien lifeform. You don't know anything about it. Don't be so selfish!"

Charlie felt his insides squirm. The Doctor was ignoring him, more interested in the strange creature that had invaded his body. He really wanted the Doctor to look him in the eye, and tell him that it would be okay. That he could remove the thing, sentient or otherwise.

Sighing, Charlie relented. He knew the Doctor meant well, but he was still inexcusably excited by the turn of events.

"Oh, fine… _do_ you have a name?" Charlie asked.

"You can call me… Drako."

"What?" spluttered Charlie, "But that's… Are you taking…?"

"No, really, that is my name," Drako insisted. "I didn't just base it off _your_ name, Mister Drake."

"Wait, did you say you were born this morning?" the Doctor queried.

"Yes. I have been incubating inside Charlie's body for a while longer than that, but I couldn't tell you for how long."

"A second organism has formed inside the boy's body?" Nera asserted.

"Two conscious minds," the Doctor mused, "Two individuals sharing the same body – that's highly unusual, but not a unique occurrence."

He turned to Nera, quickly enlightening her. "There are species known to exist with more than one face – I've met a few – but it's usually genetic. Even in humans, you're born with it."

"How do you mean?" she asked. "Have you seen this before, Doctor?"

"Yes. Edward Mordrake," the Doctor stated. "Google it."

Nera shot him a puzzled look. "Do what with it?"

"Wait," the Doctor's verbal rampage galloped to a halt. "No, no, wait…"

He jabbed a finger at the face. "You. Are you… are you _Vyper?_ "

Charlie noticed the sudden change in the Doctor's voice. Was that… horror? Disgust?

"Vyper…? No…" Drako returned, perplexed.

"Hold on," Charlie tried to interrupt, "You mean that virus in the virtual world?"

"You must be!" the Doctor exclaimed. "You at least _know_ what Vyper is?"

"Believe me, sir, I do not know," Drako assured him.

"Then…" the Doctor shook his head, culling the jumbled mess of thoughts and rushed conclusions. "What do you want with Charlie?"

"Nothing. It's just happenstance that I find myself here."

"Then…" the Doctor paused, the excited fervour bubbling to the surface once again. "I can get you a new body."

"You could," Drako agreed, hesitantly.

"I can transfer your consciousness to another form," the Doctor promised. "You don't _need_ Charlie."

"Ah. There I must disagree. I do rather depend upon him for survival, so I'm going to have to decline your offer, Doctor."

"Then _I'm_ sorry, Drako. I'm responsible for that boy. I can't allow you remain in his body."

Charlie silently breathed a sigh of relief; thankful that the Doctor was finally taking his side.

"And _I_ can't risk you destroying me," Drako argued.

The Doctor uttered a frustrated roar. "I'm trying to help you. I have no intention of killing you – that's not who I am."

"No, I think… You're more invested in this boy's life than mine. That puts me at risk if I place my life in your hands."

Charlie could feel the face smile, and his heart sank.

"It's interesting being inside this boy's head, you know, Doctor. Because I know who you are. I might even know you better than he does. I've got that bit of distance to be objective, unbiased.

"I can use this information against you. I am just a mind, without a body. But I know how to use my weapons."

"I don't think so," the Doctor growled.

Drako's eyes flickered towards Nera, shining with devious intent.

"The Doctor, Madame Nera, is the last of his kind," Drako announced.

Nera looked between the two of them, intrigued.

"I'm actually not," the Doctor protested, raising his palms in an open gesture of innocence.

"He is... a _Time Lord_ ," Drako hissed. The cruel edge to his words reverberated inside Charlie's skull.

"A Time Lord!" Nera exclaimed. "Unbelievable!"

There was a deafening crack; a spark of electricity.

Before Charlie span round, the Doctor was already unconscious, crumpled on the floor.

Nera stood over him, wielding a gadget like a dangerous version of the sonic screwdriver. The device had delivered an extremely high voltage charge to the Doctor's nervous system, stunning him instantly.

Charlie was frozen in shock.

Within seconds, a team of physicians, draped in green surgical robes, stormed the room. Two of them immediately grabbed the Doctor's arms, and began dragging him away, with military efficiency.

"No!" Charlie yelled. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare take him!"

When he took a single step forward, trying to stop them from taking the Doctor, Nera was on him.

Her deadly electronic syringe spat vicious blue sparks at him, keeping him trapped in a corner of the room like a caged animal.

He couldn't believe how these people operated so quickly – faster than the armed guards defending the broadcasting studios.

"Stay back from them, Charlie," Drako warned. "They'll only hurt us."

The Doctor was gone. The physicians dragged his limp body out of Lyrosa's room with complete disregard for his trailing limbs. They did nothing to keep his head from bumping against the floor.

Nera strutted close behind them, barking orders at her associates.

"Where are you taking him?" Charlie demanded, despite being hunched in the corner, where Nera had left him.

"Charlie…" Drako warned him again.

Nera did not answer. She threw a cold glare at him. It was not the look of a killer – but that of an impassionate medical professional, a steely gaze desensitised by the sight of too many horrors.

"This room will be deadlocked. You will not be able to leave without a physician's authority," she stated. "Someone will return for you once I have concluded my tests."

The door slid shut. Charlie raced over, trying to force his way out, but as promised, he was locked in.

Enraged, he slammed his fists against the metal barricade.

"What happened?" Charlie asked, through gritted teeth.

It scared him how quickly Nera had turned on the Doctor. He thought the Doctor had trusted her – he had let her into the TARDIS.

As soon as Drako had mentioned the fact that the Doctor was a Time Lord, the woman had knocked him out, and carted him off to god knows where.

This creature, whatever it was, might have been in total control of the room, but it did not have control over _him_.

"Didn't the Doctor tell you?" Drako teased, "This is a planet of medical miracles. What do you think they could do with a body capable of so many more medical miracles?"

"But why!? Why did you tell them?" Charlie twisted round, annoyed that he could not face his tormentor.

"It's sensational," Drako replied, indifferent. It would have shrugged if it had any shoulders. "When words are your only weapons, you use them. These people gobble up sensational news like… ooh, like those spiders gobbled up your Private Lazarov."

"How…?" Charlie was stung with the memory of their last, horrific adventure. Innocent people had died in the most awful ways. "How dare you," Charlie said, with quiet rage.

"You know what we are, Charlie? Sensational news," Drako's voice rose in grandeur. It was a voice dedicated to theatre and showmanship, yet Charlie could detect the undertones of malice. This thing was evil.

"We're gonna be the biggest sensation this world has seen."


	5. Out of Control

The Doctor inhaled sharply as he awoke. He tried to sit up, only to find that he had been clamped in place by more of those high-tech restraints.

He was back in the physician's Mediplex, only this time, _he_ was strapped to the examination table.

Nera was standing over him, dictating to a data pad suspended above the table. The Doctor watched the green line undulate in hypnotic waveforms as the physician's words were transcribed.

He slowly became aware of a peculiar sensation in his chest; a sort of uncomfortable burrowing feeling. Like there was a creature inside him, struggling to get out. It worried him a little.

At first, he thought it might be a twinge of cosmic angst, but as he broke through the fog shrouding his mind, he realised that his chest had been sliced open. That feeling was Nera probing his insides, digging through his internal organs with professionally restrained fascination. She seemed particularly interested in his binary vascular system, and the two hearts that were integral to his bodily functions.

"The subject has an increased resistance to sedatives," Nera spoke. She made no other attempt to acknowledge his waking up. Not even a _'how are you?'._ She ignored him as she continued to pick her way through his ribcage.

"Nera? What are you doing?" the Doctor demanded, struggling to inch his body away from her. "Put that back! I might need that."

"Just try to relax," she said, scrutinising a strange mass she had extracted from his body.

 _Relax!_ The Doctor fumed. Whilst an alien doctor was dissecting him like a frog in a high school biology class?

She had no right to do this under Morovan law… Ah, but she had. When Charlie had saved their lives earlier, he had inadvertently forfeited any right to fair treatment.

There wouldn't be much he could say to change her mind.

Looking on the positive side, however, Nera had expertly cauterised his blood vessels, redirecting his major arteries so that they continued pumping vital fluids throughout his body, as though nothing was different. If he was going to be dissected, at least he was being dissected by a pro.

"Whilst you're in there, what's your opinion on my kidneys?" the Doctor asked offhandedly.

"They are exceptional specimens," Nera admitted.

"That's not what I meant…" he sighed.

Glancing around, the Doctor located his sonic screwdriver sitting in a metal tray in the corner of the laboratory, sat alongside a silver spoon. So, they had confiscated his weapons again.

He had also noticed that there were no cameras here, which was unusual. There had been cameras _everywhere_ on this planet. Every vaguely interesting facet of everyone's lives was documented in media. Every opinion was shared with the world. But it seemed nothing was leaving this room.

"Why are there no cameras?" the Doctor asked her. "Isn't this an operating theatre? Where's the audience?"

"We are not broadcasting, because no one will be watching. The general public is not interested, simply because we are not going to kill you."

"I guess I should count myself lucky."

"I yearn for a return to the days when the broadcasts were informative," Nera muttered, reminiscing, "When I could learn, without being subjected to mindless banality."

The Doctor observed her faraway gaze for a moment, analysing the rare emotions betrayed in her features.

"You don't like the games either?" the Doctor concluded.

"No," she said softly.

"Then perhaps we can do something about it? I can help!" the Doctor insisted.

In response, she snapped back to the present, glaring at him through her surgical glasses.

"Tell me about your DNA," Nera enquired, quickly diverting the direction of the conversation, "It appears to be an amalgamation of multiple strands. As though the very structure of your body has changed multiple times."

The Doctor's attempts to ignite some kind of revolutionary spark in Nera wouldn't work. It was clear that she was too engrossed up in her work. She had no passion for anything else. The local political balance was of no interest to her.

"Yeah, I've noticed that too," the Doctor remarked bitterly. He let his head fall back against the examination table.

"So it is true, what they say about Time Lords?"

"They're extremely self-absorbed, and wear stupid hats?"

Nera threw a quizzical look at him. "A Time Lord has the ability to live indefinitely. Your cellular regeneration is incredibly advanced. Perhaps to the extent that you are immortal?"

The Doctor snorted. "Believe me, immortality's not all that it's cracked up to be."

Nera stopped, resting her hands on her hips, a look of incredulity slapped across her face.

"You don't understand. You're amazing, Doctor! Your body is a work of art. I have never seen anything like it."

"Stop," the Doctor growled cynically, rolling his eyes. "You're making my stomach blush."

"I have heard that a Time Lord's blood contains the cure for vampirism, amongst many other ailments. A single tissue sample could revolutionise modern medicine. Think of all the lives that could be saved!"

"Enough," the Doctor snapped. "You don't know what you're doing. You might change Morovan history – but not for the better."

Nera shot him a puzzled expression. "How do you mean?"

"Immortality? Is that what you want? I beg you to imagine it!" the Doctor roared. "Imagine… experiencing centuries of suffering. Imagine living through every conceivable form of hatred your people can inflict upon each other. Imagine being stuck on this tiny world for eternity. Your heart's in the right place, Nera. I know that! But think. Think of the consequences – just for a moment."

Nera reflected on his words, before answering.

"I'm not looking for immortality. I'm simply looking to prevent the suffering you speak of. Keep people healthy, free from disease, so that loved ones may grow old together." She shook her head, picking up a sharp needle-like device from the tray beside her. "You can't tell me I'm not doing the right thing."

The Doctor sighed, resignedly. There was no reasoning with this woman.

* * *

Charlie stood in front of the mirror, his features a mask of revulsion.

The mirror was virtually rotated to show Drako's grinning visage on the back of his skull. They could see each other eye to eye. That way, Charlie could tell when the face was mocking him.

"You're not in control of me," Charlie uttered aloud, his voice quivering.

Drako giggled. He didn't even try to hide how amused he was. How he didn't believe Charlie's act of confidence for a second.

"You're not!" Charlie protested, slamming his hands on the dresser. He paused, furious that he sounded like a whining child. And that his palms were stinging.

Drako noticed, his eyebrows twitching gleefully.

"We're trapped in here," he said levelly, "You're not going anywhere."

"We don't have to go anywhere," Drako replied, completely unmoved by Charlie's threats. "I can get our message of love and unity out through our friend Lyrosa's cameras."

Drako pursed his lips, drawing in a lungful of air. Did that thing even need to breath? Did it have its own lungs?

"I'm sorry?" Charlie interjected, "Love and unity? _That's_ what you want?"

"Well… love, unity, _and_ dominion. But let's not get too hung up on the specifics."

"I use my weapons. I talk for fifteen minutes. I'll have them all hanging on my every word." Drako frowned. "Just a tick… minutes are _your_ units, aren't they? They don't use units derived from the rotation of their planet here."

"No!" Charlie almost yelled. "I mean… I don't know about the minutes thing, but you can't do this!"

"I will. I'll build up a following. Everyone will share our sensational story. They'll love it. I promise. You wouldn't mind setting up an account for us, would you Charlie? I don't have any fingers."

Charlie put on a brave face, and leaned closer to the projected reflection of Drako's face.

"You can't make me."

"Look, let's try and help each other out," Drako reasoned with him. "I can see inside your head. I can read all of your pain. I could help you work some things out."

"Like what?"

"Tell me about Nate."

Charlie took a step back. Drako seemed delighted that Charlie was visibly stung by his words.

"No."

"Why does it hurt so much?" Drako pressed him, twisting the metaphorical knife he had thrust into Charlie's stomach. "Why do you fear to look back?"

"I don't know," Charlie growled.

"You do. Why are you so afraid to tell me?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe it's because you're an _evil face_ that's invaded my body!"

Drako smiled, his eyelids fluttering for a moment as he digested the insult.

"How do you know it's yours?"

"What?"

"How do you know it's your body? How do you _know_ your mind, that of Charlie Drake, is the actual owner of this physical body? Bet you didn't think of that one, huh?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Charlie exclaimed.

"Have you ever felt uncomfortable in your own skin? Like it doesn't quite fit properly? Maybe it's not your skin?"

Charlie couldn't respond. Of course he had. But that wasn't because… It wasn't because he didn't belong in it… it was just…

Actually, he wasn't sure now. Drako was spreading seeds of doubt in his mind. His words undermining the certainty of his existence.

Drako was using his weapons. Charlie knew he needed to resist. Fight back against it.

"Let me propose a solution," Drako suggested. "Co-existence. We both remain alive, and share the same body?"

"I'm not sure… I don't…" Charlie stuttered.

"There are latent aspects of your brain, which I am perfectly capable of using."

"I don't like this at all."

"Well," Drako smirked. "It's either that, or I kill you."

"Kill me…?" Charlie looked into those hazel eyes. A thin veneer disguising Drako's malicious intentions. It was deadly serious. "You can't – you can't do anything! I can stop you from doing any of this. No killing. No broadcasts."

"Don't be so sure," Drako teased. "Try to move your arm."

"My arm…?" Charlie frowned, looking down as his arm. He saw the cuts, raw on his forearm.

He made to manipulate his fingers, but nothing happened. His arm was rigid.

"I… I can't," Charlie breathed. "I can't move my arms."

He looked into the mirror. Drako's crooked teeth were showing in a wide grin. The thing was barely containing a guffaw.

"No. But I can. I can move _my_ arms."

Charlie watched in horror as his arm moved, out of his control. His fingers ran across his cheek, brushing gently against his skin, tracing his lips.

Charlie couldn't stop it. His muscles were trembling, screaming, but he couldn't resist the movement.

Drako snapped his fingers, grabbed Charlie forcefully by the chin, and twisted his face around, to watch two beautifully crafted cameras drift in through the windows.

"Get ready, Charlie," Drako whispered, "we're about to go live."

Drako turned around, and Charlie was no longer facing the cameras. He felt Drako take a deep breath, using _his_ lungs, and he started to speak.


	6. Time for Action

"Turn the cameras off," Chancellor Kan ordered his aides.

They nodded obediently, and huddled together, muttering their suspicions to each other.

Kan's popularity was plummeting. Soon, they might start looking for a new employer.

Kan could tell that his assistants would not be loyal if his own franchise turned against him. Still, it would be best if no-one knew the details of the difficult conversation he was about to have with his daughter.

The cameras nestled back into concave recesses in the wall like a flock of birds returning to roost, and powered down. As soon as the cameras were off, his aides left.

Lyrosa watched. She wondered if it had occurred to her father that his aides might trust him if he'd bothered to learn any of their names.

They were in the Chancellor's office, stood on top of the skin of an extinct animal nobody could remember the name of. It was just as luxurious as her apartment in here; it seemed more like an entertainment centre than a room where any work took place.

Her father stared at her for some time before he spoke.

"What were you thinking, offering sanctuary to those two aliens?"

"Saving two innocent lives," she returned, calmly.

She was far calmer than her father. His robes whipped around him in a tornado of rippling fabrics as he paced the room, venting his anger.

"I am the Chancellor of the largest broadcasting corporation on the planet. Do you understand what that means?"

Lyrosa turned away, her face an expressionless mask. Her father's 'lectures' nearly always reduced her to tears when she was a little girl. But now she was used to it. She supposed she had developed a tough outer shell, resilient in the face of the hatred and violence plaguing the media. The media that her father was a major part of.

"The political balance of our nation is delicate. You can't pull stunts like this. You put us all at risk."

"This isn't about my political status," Lyrosa snapped, "This is about doing what's _right_."

"I'm cancelling both of your shows," Kan growled. "And I'm revoking your rights to a privileged media account."

Lyrosa shrugged, astounded. "Am I supposed to feel threatened by that? You think I care about my popularity?"

"Yes!" her father yelled. "Thousands of people would kill to be in your place."

"Yes, I know. They do!" Lyrosa matched her father's raised tone, her shoulders tense as she stood up to him. "On endless broadcasts. It's disgusting. I'm ashamed to be your daughter."

Her father retorted with another lecture. He droned on about the politics and the history of Morovia, as well as his broadcasting franchise.

Lyrosa rolled her eyes, and stared vacantly over his shoulder, allowing the words to drift past without stinging her.

It took her a moment to see what she was looking at; her eyes focused on the screens in the wall behind her father. There was a peculiar-looking man, speaking animatedly to the cameras.

"Lyrosa!" her father barked. "Are you even listening to me?

Lyrosa pushed the silken sleeves of her robes aside, tapping the holographic display of her watch into life.

She flicked through the data: graphs and viewing figures. Her media profiles were active.

"Wait, someone's recording on my livestream," she muttered.

Lyrosa waved her watch's display away, and pushed past her protesting father to inspect the pictures on the screen in more detail.

Something was wrong – aside from an odd mop of hair that seemed to be creeping clumsily over the man's brow.

She hit the sound slider, and turned the volume up.

"…I know what you're all thinking about the games," the man was issuing a rousing speech, "The executions aren't exciting enough – if they ever happen at all."

This man was hijacking her channel. Drako, a political activist, rallying followers – her followers – to his cause.

The clothes. It was the man's clothes that didn't make sense – not only were they on backwards, Lyrosa recognised them as belonging to Charlie.

"You're all sheep. You're all being lied to by the broadcasting companies," Drako shouted. "It's time to rise up, and burn them all down!"

"Please stop!" Charlie was protesting. "Don't listen to him."

Lyrosa frowned. She couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. If he was in the room, why wasn't he trying to intervene? What had happened to him?

As she watched, the full horror of the situation hit her.

As Drako turned his head, to gesture sideways, she could see Charlie's profile. It _was_ Charlie. The thing on his head looked disjointed from the rest of his body. This face was fused to the back of Charlie's head.

"What's happened to him?" Lyrosa muttered. "Oh my stars. There's a creature attached to his body."

"What is that?" her father asked, sweeping by her side to peer at the footage, his anger forgotten. "Have we got cameras on it?"

Lyrosa glared at him, astonished. "Father! That's my friend!"

"Lyrosa," her father reasoned, jabbing the screen, "This might just save our necks if we can be the first to get the rights to this."

Lyrosa grabbed the screen's controls. These were _her_ cameras; she should have access to their movements – but she was locked out. Whatever Drako had done was blocking her from her own media channels.

Her father was already hammering on his data pad, lost in his intent to buy the rights to Drako's verbal rampage. He cursed as he frantically prodded buttons, probably negotiating deals with rival companies.

Lyrosa's follower count was going up, as more and more people tuned in to Drako's revolutionary rant.

The way he was talking was unsettling her. He wasn't simply craving attention, he was calling for action, rounding up citizens for war. Calling for murder, bloodshed. Calling for her and her father's heads.

Someone needed to stop him, before his suggestions were taken seriously. But who would listen?

"Where's the Doctor?" Lyrosa demanded, turning to her father.

"Who?"

"The man you sent for execution on a whim! Where is he?"

Kan sighed, quickly checking his data pad.

"Uh… the physicians have him," he dismissed her quickly, keen to get back to his business.

"What?" Lyrosa exclaimed. "Are they _experimenting_ on him?"

"Probably. What does it matter?"

"Because I think that man might be able to help us – help Charlie."

* * *

Charlie was powerless as this demon began taking charge.

It had gone public, and people were responding. It was all so fast. He was confused and disoriented as to what was actually going on.

Drako was reaching out to the people of the planet, and they were reaching back. The viewers, hungry for new and sensational content were hooked by Drako and his words. He was something new. Should they love him? Should they hate him?

"I've seen what many of you have been asking," Drako spoke, picking up a data pad with Charlie's hand, and skim-reading the comments which flashed across the screen at lightning speed. "What am I? I am a being with two faces. Am I unique in this universe? Am I an alien?"

Drako smirked. "I'll reveal the answer shortly. First, I want to ask all of _you_ a question."

He pointed at the camera. It was an awkward gesture; Charlie's arm didn't articulate well enough to reach that far behind his back.

"In the face of adversity, what would you do? What are you prepared to sacrifice to get what you want?"

He paused for a moment, glancing at all the responses pinging back in real time.

"You want blood? I can give you blood. My species have waged wars for millennia. Long, great, bloody wars. I have survived for centuries. I have endured glorious conflicts."

His voice rose, the violent tones reverberating through Charlie's skull. His heart was pumping furiously, and he wasn't sure if it was because of his fear, or Drako's triumphant fury.

"I'll tell you what we can do," Drako roared, "We can raise an army that will reign forever more. Rise up my friends, my followers! Rise up and forge our world!"

* * *

"Hmm," Nera mused, her attention diverted by the holo-screens, "Drako appears to be trending. The gullibility of the general population never ceases to astound me."

"Then why don't you do something?" the Doctor implored. He tugged uselessly at the restraints. His hearts were beating out their rhythm of four knocks a little faster – which was more embarrassing now he could actually see them.

"I have locked them in the Chancellor's apartment complex. I'll send for them once I've finished here."

"Why wait? Am I really more exciting than a two-faced parasitic organism?"

Nera studied him for a moment. "Yes. I might even speculate that you've had significantly _more_ than two faces."

"Oh," the Doctor sighed. "This again. Look, I don't want you to share the secrets of my biology. Haven't you heard of _'consent'_?"

Nera glared at him pointedly, returning her attention to the Doctor's internal organs.

She wasn't back at work for long before Lyrosa burst into the operating theatre, a fierce look etched into her soft features.

"Lady Lyrosa?" Nera uttered in surprise. "What are you doing in here?"

"I'm here for the Doctor."

"I'm afraid I cannot release him until I have concluded my tests."

"You _will_ release him," Lyrosa demanded.

The Doctor noticed her fists clench in a subtle gesture of aggression.

"I will not," Nera shrugged her off. Despite the respect Nera seemed to have for Lyrosa, she was a slave to no-one. In the mediplex, the physician's word was final. "You should leave. This is a sterile environment."

Lyrosa, visibly frustrated, did not take 'no' for an answer.

"I'll tell you what I'll do if you refuse to do as I ask," she spoke levelly, "I have a lot of followers. I can spread the word about your incompetence."

"I am one of the finest physicians on the planet!" Nera scoffed.

"People will share the posts about you, regardless of the truth. The defamation will ruin you. You'll be stripped of your medical titles."

Nera's sneer slowly melted away when she realised she was not being dealt an empty threat.

"That's blackmail!"

"Fix him up, and let him go," Lyrosa ordered. She had not raised her voice at all.

"Very well."

Nera quickly patched the Doctor up; he watched her close the cuts as if she were doing up a zipper.

There were no scars as evidence that he had been sliced open in the first place. This really was the best medical complex in the galaxy.

"Thank you. Much obliged," the Doctor muttered, a little sarcastically as he massaged his wrists, freed from their constraints.

The Doctor grabbed his spoon and sonic screwdriver, slipping them both into his pocket before launching himself at rather high-tech piece of medical equipment, stood at the other end of the room. He wasted no time in tearing a plastic panel off the side, and rummaging through its insides.

"What are you doing?" Nera cried.

"I need to save Charlie!" the Doctor roared. "That creature's draining the life out of him. He'll die if I don't step in now."

He turned back to her, his finger outstretched accusingly.

"Don't even think about getting in my way."

Nera raised her hands in surrender, unwilling to stop the Doctor stampeding around the operating theatre with the force and determination of a cyclone.

She was left dumbfounded as the Doctor whirled around her, scooping up pieces of equipment, or tossing them aside.

"You know what this creature is, then?" Lyrosa asked, following in his wake.

"Yes. And I don't like it one bit."

"Have you got a plan?"

"Of course," the Doctor replied with a wry smile. "That's why I'm gathering up all this equipment."

The Doctor passed a bundle of medical instruments, data pads and scanning devices to Lyrosa, and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. He toyed with it for a moment, mulling over a decision.

Finally, he whirled round, and aimed the device at Nera's system of data pads. Warning signs flashed up on all the screens, illuminating the walls with angry colours.

"No!" Nera gasped, her eyes wide.

All Nera's research on the Doctor's anatomy was gone.

"I can't let you keep all that information," the Doctor growled.

"How can you do this?" Nera spat. "That could have helped me save lives!"

The Doctor ignored her, picking up the last few pieces of technology to arm him in the final showdown with Drako.

"You call yourself a doctor..." Nera snarled.

Lyrosa waited anxiously at the door as the Doctor stopped, finally riled enough to respond to Nera's protests.

He glared at her, his features fierce, threatening. Yet his words were soft when he spoke: "I've not deleted _everything_. I've left some of the data you collected. Nothing world changing. Nothing that will change the course of history. But enough to save lives."

With that, the Doctor stormed out of the Mediplex, tearing apart the equipment in his arms as he walked, Lyrosa helping him out whenever he asked.

Nera was left studying her data pads, astonished. Yes, the Doctor had erased most of the data she had gathered on him, but true to his word, he had left her a few scraps of information - enough to work with.

Ever the professional, she dived straight back into her research.


	7. Adverse Effects

Hundreds more were tuning in to Drako's broadcast. The number was growing exponentially with every second he spent on air. And he was not finished yet. Drako was about to play his trump card. If his viewers weren't hooked now, they soon would be.

He rubbed his hands together, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"In our midst, is a Time Lord," Drako declared, his lips curling into a malicious smirk. "That Time Lord is in the hands of your physicians right now. I'm sure if you turn to the medical discovery channel, you can watch them cut him open."

Drako moved over to the Doctor's TARDIS, still parked in the corner of the room. With his back to the camera, Charlie could see that four more cameras were recording him.

He tried to speak in protest, but his jaw muscles were weakening. He could barely move his chin. All his strength was leaving him - and Drako was getting stronger.

Drako addressed the cameras again. Now Charlie was facing the TARDIS. He wanted to reach out to it, to feel comforted by the battered wooden panels.

He was close to tears, but he willed himself to hold his emotions back.

"What you might not know about Time Lords, my friends, is that they have a mastery over the fourth dimension," Drako gestured towards the police box. "This is a TARDIS. A time machine. And I…"

From Charlie's pocket, Drako pulled out the key, and held it up to the cameras.

"…Have full access to all its secrets."

"No!" Charlie managed to utter. It took a great deal of effort – wasted effort. Drako ignored him.

This was a nightmare. The Doctor had given him the TARDIS key a symbol of trust between them. This _creature_ was just taking it from him – and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Shall we take a look inside?" he teased, building up the anticipation amongst his followers as their reactions flooded back to him.

"I'm going to stop you right there," the Doctor roared.

Some of the cameras pulled back, adding the Doctor and Lyrosa to the scene as the action unfolded.

The Doctor took to the stage, brandishing something which looked like a high-tech telescope, whilst Lyrosa laid down the equipment she'd been carrying.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, and others, is called a Janucite. A parasitic alien which weaves its way onto other worlds using someone else's hijacked body," the Doctor explained, pointing dramatically towards Drako.

"They are nasty, manipulative, and cruel, tricking you into believing you're getting what you want, while _it_ gets what it wants."

The Doctor advanced towards the parasite, a manic grin across his features.

"And I want you out of my friend's head."

Drako responded, with a little uncertainty, perhaps. Charlie wasn't sure. "I'd like to see you try, Time Lord," he sneered.

"You will," the Doctor growled. "Lyrosa!"

Lyrosa stepped forward, holding one of Nera's digital syringes, and stabbed Charlie's arm, administering an injection of a viscous golden substance.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," she whispered.

"What is that? What have you done?" Drako spluttered, exasperated.

"Kanama venom," the Doctor explained. "Charlie's body will be paralysed for a few minutes. It will give me _just_ enough time to stop you."

"My followers will destroy you!"

"No they won't. You don't think they'll actually think they'll pull their finger out and start obeying your every command, do you?"

"I…" Drako began to stagger back and forth, his feet stubbornly inert beneath him. He lost his balance and collapsed to the floor.

The Doctor turned to the cameras. He estimated that he had ten seconds to say a few words before he needed to act.

"Perhaps it's time to think," he said, his eyes darting between the floating cameras, "Wonder why you watch these programmes, and perhaps, wonder if there's something better… Just think about it."

The Doctor flicked the switch on the sonic, and deactivated all the cameras. They seemed to bow, turning their lenses to the floor.

He leapt over to the equipment Lyrosa had placed on the floor, and began assembling a contraption.

"You will not destroy me!" Drako spat, its face pressed up against the tiled floor, nose upturned.

The Doctor was setting up what looked like an antique camera on a tripod, wired up to an assortment of sensors and power banks. He aimed it towards Charlie's motionless body.

"A Janucite's brain is often likened to a tumour. A small cancerous mass adjoined to its host's brain. A concentrated burst of photon radiation will destroy it."

"You would kill me, Doctor?"

"No. I'd rather not. I gave you a choice, but instead you chose to hurt my friend. You've left me with no other alternative. Another twenty minutes, you'll have erased Charlie's mind and taken over his body. I can't allow that."

"Doctor, Is this… safe?" Charlie asked.

"No," the Doctor replied brusquely. "But if I don't do this, the Janucite will wipe your mind. The only thing that will remain of you will be your decaying face on the back of its head."

Charlie was lost for words. Or perhaps he no longer had the strength to speak them. His eyes stared blankly at the ornate ceiling.

"The Doctor," the Janucite taunted him, "You say you're a man of peace. You would never take up arms. But here you are. About to pull a trigger that will end a life. Not a gun, but it will have the same effect. Do you think you can bring yourself to do it?"

"I know I can," the Doctor snarled. "The Janucites are responsible for countless genocides all across the galaxy. The Shadow Proclamation have classed you as a disease that must be eradicated. I would be doing the universe a favour by destroying you. But that still doesn't mean I _want_ to destroy you."

"Doctor… please do it," Charlie begged.

"You must!" agreed Lyrosa.

The Doctor made some adjustments to the telescopic device, pinpointing the Janucite's brain. He hesitated for a moment.

It was enough time for the face to glare at him. To look upon him with its judgemental eyes.

 _No._ This creature had to be destroyed.

He pressed the button, and the photon beam shot out in a burst of blue energy.

Drako's features crumpled up in pain, pulling contorted faces as it began to shrivel and die.

Lyrosa had to look away, but the Doctor remained focussed on his target, watching as the face was reduced to a small patch of dry skin, and the creature's brain dispersed into atoms.

The Doctor switched the beam off, and raced to Charlie's side the moment it was safe to move closer.

"Charlie, are you okay? Tell me you're okay?"

No response. The boy had blacked out as his body had been pummelled with radiation, but he was coming round now. He'd be weak for a few hours yet when he woke up.

Charlie groaned, immediately clutching the back of his head, relieved to discover that there was nothing there, save for his own hair.

"Yeah," Charlie managed, "Yeah, I'm okay… I'm okay."

The Doctor scanned him with the sonic.

"No traces of the Janucite. You're officially back in the hot seat."

"You're okay," Lyrosa reassured him, clasping his hand.

"Yeah, uh, thanks," Charlie muttered. His grip was feeble, but he pulled his hand away anyway, an action the Doctor noted with some interest. He thought he'd developed a bit of a close bond with Lyrosa over the last few days. Perhaps he was mistaken. Charlie was really struggling to trust anyone enough to get close to them. The Doctor wondered what that meant.

"How long will you be staying for?" she asked them.

"Not sure…" Charlie uttered carefully.

"About ninety seconds," the Doctor quickly answered.

He could see that Charlie was uncomfortable. It was best just to leave as soon as possible. No thank yous. No goodbyes. Straight back into the TARDIS, in another world, another time, before anyone noticed they were gone.

"Really?" Lyrosa queried, looking up at the Doctor, as he helped Charlie to his feet.

"Yeah," the Doctor replied, fumbling for the TARDIS key. "Political state of the planet disrupted - just enough for people to start thinking for themselves, without causing arnarchy. Evil body snatching parasite neutralised. We're done here. Let's go."

"You won't stay?" Lyrosa asked, a little stunned. "I really thought you were going to stay and help us."

The Doctor sighed, as he guided Charlie back inside the TARDIS, without giving him the chance for an awkward goodbye.

"You don't need me, Lyrosa. You're brilliant. You can handle this. In fact, you will."

"What are you saying? You know the future."

"I'm a Time Lord. I know all sorts of things. Small actions, Lyrosa," the Doctor hinted, "You can't change the world in a day. Small actions can help change the world!"

The Doctor gesticulated excitedly for a moment.

"Nice to meet you, Lyrosa. Maybe our paths will cross again."

The Doctor slammed the TARDIS doors shut before Lyrosa could say another word.

"But I doubt it."

He paused for a moment, his fingertips pressed up against the wooden panels behind him.

Charlie had already collapsed into a chair on the other side of the control room, plunging his face into his hands.

The Doctor raced over to the controls, and began flicking switches. He pulled a lever, and the TARDIS took off.

For Lyrosa, the TARDIS would have started to fade away the moment the Doctor had shut the door. Time was, after all, only relative to its corresponding dimensions in space.

"Do you really know what happens to Lyrosa?" Charlie asked.

"I am _broadly_ familiar with this planet's history," the Doctor replied, orbiting the console, tweaking the controls as his ship forged its path through the dangerous fires of the Time Vortex.

"Do you know what happens to everyone?"

The Doctor stopped, and regarded the boy for a moment.

"No, but it doesn't usually take a great leap of deduction to work it out."

"Do you know what happens to me?"

"No. You're travelling with me in the TARDIS - your future's in flux. If I was ever aware of what's in store for you, that future no longer exists," the Doctor explained. "Does that make sense?"

Charlie nodded.

"Why did this happen?" he asked quietly. He sounded a little tired – exhausted from their ordeal on Morovia, perhaps.

The Doctor frowned, indicating that Charlie should be more specific.

"Why did we come here? You've had a reason for every trip we've made."

"That's an interesting conjecture..." the Doctor considered.

"I'm right, though," Charlie stated, shrugging. "The Moonbase. Solos Nine. You had a reason for every one of those trips. So why did we come here?"

The Doctor threw him a puzzled expression. "Are you annoyed with me?"

"I am a bit!" Charlie snapped. "I almost lost control of my entire body! Why were we there in the first place?"

"It's random," the Doctor said. That _was_ true, to some extent. "The TARDIS sometimes takes us places at random."

Charlie took a moment to accept this explanation.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," the Doctor dismissed him gently, "You had no reason to know. You can't be right all the time. You are only human, after all."

Charlie harrumphed, but he didn't stay mad. Within seconds, he was itching for another adventure. He was already hovering over the navigation controls, eyeing the planets across all of space and time.

Yes, it was a lie. The Doctor had a very good reason for coming here. He was worried about Charlie. He still was. Perhaps it was time to find out what was really going on.

The phone rang.

"What's that?" Charlie asked, looking around sharply.

"It's a phone," the Doctor stated, his hand poised over the handset plugged into the console.

"I can see that," Charlie retorted.

"That number is reserved for emergencies only," the Doctor mused, staring at Charlie with a troubled look knotting his brow. "Someone needs our help."

"Then… are we going to answer? Are we going to help them?"

The Doctor grinned. "Charlie Drake. I'm the Doctor. That's what I do."

He wanted to know what Charlie was hiding. What secret could be that dangerous? But perhaps… it wasn't worth worrying just now. It could wait.

He plucked the phone from the console.

"Hello, you've reached the TARDIS. This is the Doctor speaking. How can we help?"

* * *

 ** _The Adventure Continues..._**

The Twelfth Doctor and Charlie return in _Mind That Kitten!_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed the Doctor and Charlie's adventures.**

 **I'm quite excited about the next few adventures, which may well be drawing the TARDIS team's journey to a close...**


End file.
